Thursday, September 4, 2008

YIKES!!!! AND OUCH!!!!!

DH had a bad day. The school where he teaches was built in 1848. It has those gigantic, massive windows that are like 6 feet tall for each section with mahogany frames. One of them slipped out of its track today and crashed down on his hand. He moved quickly and it only smashed the top joint area of his middle finger (the distal phalanx). Then there was getting the bleeding stopped, getting it elevated and iced, getting the nurse to evaluate, going to HR who then called the workmen's comp clinic at the hospital- where they told them they were not taking anymore patients today. So he came home. The finger is not too badly swollen as he was so careful to keep the hand up and the finger iced, but it is dramatically bruised. Tomorrow morning its off to the clinic for evaluation. Fortunately, its his right hand and he is a leftie.

So, he's in a lot of pain, there is nothing I can do for him except give him advil, and it's going to be a LONG night around here.

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Why "Tilting at Windmills"?

When I started this blog in October 2007, there was a story here about my connection to "Tilting With Windmills". Much of what was in that post no longer applies. Much other of it still does. So, here's the story.

When I was graduating from high school, more than 40 years ago, a group of my friend presented me with a print of Picasso's Don Quixote. They said it reminded me of them.

I get upset when things are wrong, even though getting upset cannot fix them. I dislike people who are cruel or petty or self-serving, and am frustrated that I cannot change them. I fight a daily battle with my health, although I know that every new day is another battle. I have a husband and close friends who support me, even when what I want or believe seems crazy.

So, the comparison with Don Quixote is perhaps an apt one. The story encourages me to take on the battles I see, even the hopeless ones. It reminds me to try to see the best in people. It comforts me that, in the end, even if my actions are futile, they are not meaningless.

I mean to try to continue "to dream the impossible dream".

Picasso's Don Quixote

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